


Mole Man

by Moist_Master



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Also kinda baker Mabel, Blood and Injury, Chef Ford Pines, Cussing, Ford Pines is a Jerk, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Guilty Ford Pines, Gun Violence, Hurt Stan Pines, Infection, Injured Stan Pines, Its kinda vague but just want to be sure, Mentions of Sherman Pines, Mole People - Freeform, Near Death Experiences, Original sea monster since I couldn’t find a historical one I liked, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pines Family, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Blame, Stan Pines Angst, Suicide mention, Tracker Ford Pines, Worried Dipper Pines, Worried Ford Pines, Worried Mabel Pines, Wound Cleaning, assumed death, but he’ll get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29565903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moist_Master/pseuds/Moist_Master
Summary: Stanley Pines was not who anyone would describe as a coward. He had always been willing to face any danger that came his way, big or small, since he was a kid. He’d been the first of the twins to jump onto that ragged old boat despite his brother’s concern over how stable it was. He’d been the one who punched first and asked questions later. He’d been the one who’d (single handedly, he might add) won six wrestling matches back to back. Sure, he’d been sore as hell after that and sure, he’d been mottled with bruises up and down his chest, back and face, and sure, even picking up a pencil had had his arm shaking like a leaf, but he’d still won. Not to mention everything he went through in those ten years he was homeless and the thirty living in this wackjob of a town. So yes, he might be described as a cheat, a phony, a bad influence, and pretty awful son and brother, but he has never been called a coward.However, standing in the inner reaches of the forest, staring at the tracks in front of him, Stan would (never) admit to feeling the tiniest bit of... worry.
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Ford Pines, Dipper Pines & Ford Pines & Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Ford Pines & Mabel Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 24
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Gravity Falls and multiple chapter fanfic! I hope you guys like it

Stanley Pines was not who anyone would describe as a coward. He had always been willing to face any danger that came his way, big or small, since he was a kid. He’d been the first of the twins to jump onto that ragged old boat despite his brother’s concern over how stable it was. He’d been the one who punched first and asked questions later. He’d been the one who’d (single handedly, he might add) won six wrestling matches back to back. Sure, he’d been sore as hell after that and sure, he’d been mottled with bruises up and down his chest, back and face, and sure, even picking up a pencil had had his arm shaking like a leaf, but he’d still won. Not to mention everything he went through in those ten years he was homeless _and_ the thirty living in this wackjob of a town. So yes, he might be described as a cheat, a phony, a bad influence, and pretty awful son and brother, but he has never been called a _coward_.  


However, standing in the inner reaches of the forest, staring at the tracks in front of him, Stan would (never) admit to feeling the tiniest bit of... worry. Not fear, of course, because he was a grown man, but he could worry. A little bit. Not that he was worried about himself. His worry was for his much younger niece and nephew who had yet to come in for dinner.  


He had decided earlier to go and find them himself, leaving Ford to work on making the food. Stan hadn’t had much luck in finding them, though. He remembered them saying something about going into town to get what they wanted but not much else. Usually whenever the twins had to go get supplies it was for one of Dipper’s experiments or Mabel’s... well, whatever Mabel was usually doing. Probably officiating a marriage somewhere between a gnome and a squirrel.   


Not wanting to search the whole town and knowing the kids would be going through the forest anyway, he decided to just wait for the loud sounds of prepubescent squeals to find him. He had been wandering around longer than he had anticipated, though, with not even a whisper coming from the kids. He thought that by now he would’ve either stumbled across them or their shenanigan of the day. And, just as he had been about to begin more speculation, he had seen the tracks.   


They’d been hard to see at first, what with it probably being close to eight. He went to check his watch- just to be sure he hadn’t gone looking way too early- when he realized it had been left in the Shack. So. It was probably eight then. Which means the kids should have definitely been in the woods for him to yell at by now.  


He tore his gaze from the tracks to find where the sun was at, only to find that the sun was hidden behind the thick foliage of trees. Stan looked over his shoulder for a better view, but the trees were just as dense there. He sighed and looked back at the tracks, wondering if these had been what entranced the kids. If Dipper had seen these, then not even _Mabel_ could pull him away from his curious urge to follow them. The boy reminded him so much of Ford it wasn’t funny.  


Stan groaned as he crouched down to get a better look, trying to see how his nerd brother and nerd nephew would see. There were two flat, almost lizard-like hand prints? Foot prints? on both sides of what was a wide trail between them. Stan frowned. He hadn’t seen any animal tracks like that before, not even in Gravity Falls. And _that_ was saying something. It looked like it had two legs, though, but it refused to walk on this trail. That puzzled him more than anything. However, it was just what the nerds would like.  


He stood as his knees popped, hands on his hips. His eyes followed from where the trail was back into the forest to his right, seeing that it disappeared into bushes and more trees. His frown deepened. Who the hell made that path? A drunk toddler? Someone high as a kite? Shaking off the judgmental train of thoughts before it could continue, Stan turned back to where the trail was leading to. A maybe lizard that could walk on two legs that wouldn’t walk on the poorly made path? Oh yeah, that was right up Dipper’s alley. If the kids were anywhere in this forest it _had_ to be wherever this creature was. Stan just hoped it hadn’t hurt them. Creatures in Gravity Falls couldn’t be relied on to be friendly.  


Pushing past his worry- the twins were surprisingly resilient after all- he began his own trek down the trail. He kept his eyes roaming for any signs of life. If he caught sight of the kids, then he could drag them back (hopefully) before they got into trouble. And if he caught sight of that thing... well! Hopefully for _It_ it wouldn’t be aggressive. He may have forgotten his watch, but he _hadn’t_ forgotten his gun.  


Stan walked for what felt like a half an hour, walking in between those lizard prints until he came to a lake. The tracks made him tense, and he had lived long enough to know to trust his gut. He kept his right hand on his hip, close enough to pull out the gun if he was attacked but far enough to not arouse suspicion from the kids. He wouldn’t want to shoot anything in front of them. He wondered where said kids were and if he should call out to them. He couldn’t hear anything, not even birds chirping, so he would’ve thought he would know if they were nearby.  


Stan paused, going back to that thought. He couldn’t even hear birds chirping... His hand snapped from his hip to pull out the gun in an instant. From what he’s learned by living here, nothing good ever happens when it’s this quiet. _‘Deathly quiet,’_ the thought slithered its way to the front of his mind, and he decided to call out to the kids.  


“Dipper?” Stan shouted, turning in a slow circle as he scanned the area. The lake behind him was still, just like the forest, which only added to the worry rising in his chest. His heart was thrumming loudly in his ears and he shook his head. He couldn’t hear anything with his heartbeat pounding his eardrums. He turned sharply to his left, gun leveled and ready to fire. “Mabel? Where are you sweetie?” Seeing nothing to his left or in front of him, he looked to his right. A large mound stood there, providing shade for the back half of the lake. No monster and no kids. Not exactly good, though. “Kiddos? Are you out here?”

No answer. Stan’s voice seemed deafening to him, echoing strangely in his ears. He cast one more glance around before holstering his gun in the back of his pants. Didn’t look like whatever that thing was was nearby, and neither were the twins. He could see the sky from above the pond, and it was getting dark fast. He was definitely maybe probably going to have a long talk with the kids about what time is a good time to get home. Unless Mabel gave him _that_ look...  


Stan internally cursed the girl for her manipulative, con-man puppy-dog look. She could maybe out con _himself_ one day, if she let him take her under his wing. Maybe get her to guilt some customers into buying Knick-knacks.  


Stan looked under his feet, deciding to follow the tracks a little longer before he would give up and head back, when he noticed nothing but the sand of the lake was there. He blinked, then squinted. Yup, nothing underfoot. He looked up from where he had come from and began walking back. He was sure that the tracks had led him here. There was no way he would imagine such a shoddy, _sorry excuse_ of a path (and yes, he was still hung up on that). Stan saw his own shoe prints in the sand slowly turn into shoe prints in the dirt. Sure enough, after about twenty five or thirty feet, the tracks were there. The wide path and animal prints abruptly stopped. They didn’t veer off to the right or left and didn’t show any signs of going back the way they came. They just... ended.  


Stan sighed, bringing a hand up to massage his temple. What was he doing? What was he _doing >/em>? He was an old man; he couldn’t keep up with two kids on some wild goose chase of a trail. He should’ve just waited for them to get back home. It’s not like this was the first time they’d been late to dinner. Now it’d take forever to get back to the Shack, and the kids would be fine, Ford would be annoyed, and he would be tired. He could already feel the adrenaline from earlier waning away his energy as he calmed down. He’d probably be too tired to even eat his dinner, which was no doubt cold by now. He kicked his shoe against one of the lizard prints. It smudged in on itself as the dirt nearby hurried to fill the print’s place. The sight gave him a small amount of satisfaction. While Dipper or Ford might have continued on to find out what the creature was, he had no such inclination.  
_

__

Stan stretched his arms above his head, groaning at the _pop, pop, poppop,_ in his back. He looked behind him at the lake, weighing a thought. On the one hand, the lake water was probably full of nasty fish shit. On the other hand, if he didn’t find some way to wake himself up, he would probably fall asleep in the forest. But then again, fish shit. Years and years of fish shit in that lake. But, yet again, Ford might give him a nerdy dumb lecture on how he was right that Stan shouldn’t have gone out without him. Stan winced at the thought, and made an immediate u-turn to the lake. There was _no way_ he was gonna let Ford think he’s right about something.  


__

He crouched down by the lake, cupping some of the water in his hands. His nose scrunched up at the smell before he splashed some on his face. The sheer coldness sent a wave of awakening throughout his body. Not completely, of course, because he still had the loss from the adrenaline rush, but it was better than nothing.  


__

As he cupped his hands to get more water he collided with something solid and long. Stan grasped at it, muttering to himself as he did. “Stupid sticks getting in _my_ way,” he groaned, giving a final, rough tug. “Don’t they know who-“  


__

Stan stopped, blinking at the bone in his hand. The bone that was about as long as his shin. The bone with indents of what had to be teeth marks. The bone that was very distinctly human.  


__

Stan threw the bone back into the water as though it had burned him. That bone... He stood immediately, glancing around. The adrenaline was back with a vengeance. His lethargy from earlier had been wiped clean as fear began to replace it. That bone meant whatever was nearby was definitely _not_ friendly. He glanced back up above the lake; a few stars were out now along with a half full moon, giving him a small amount of light. Even with that though, he had barely been able to make out the bone. He didn’t want to think about if any creatures were watching him, waiting, hiding.  


__

His blood was racing through his veins and he pulled out his gun. His arm shook and he tried to steel himself, taking deep and ragged breaths. His earlier annoyance at coming out here vanished. Stan prayed fervently that the kids hadn’t come out this way; if they had seen the bone, if they had _joined_ it... Stan would never forgive himself.  


__

A scuttle to his right had him firing his gun blindly in its direction. The recoil and his nerves had him splashing into the shallow end of the lake, landing on his ass. The gunshot rang in his ears as he swiveled his head. He couldn’t see what had made the noise or if he had even hit it. He held his breath, and his gun, listening. Only the sounds of small rippling waves from where he had fallen met his ears. Listening for a second, and then another, and then another, he eventually decided it was safe. Stan kept his gun ready in one hand and in the other made to push himself up. He froze, hand curling around several long, solid things beneath him.  


__

Stan allowed himself a few seconds of the utter stillness in the forest to take loud, gulping breaths, before letting his curiosity (hey, maybe he wasn’t the odd one out in the family) get the best of him. Bringing his hand up- along with the _things_ in it- Stan looked over at it. The moonlight above was annoying enough to provide _just_ the amount of light needed to see all the different bones in his grasp. Some were clearly animals of the forest, some fish, but a few were like the one he’d seen earlier. Human.  


__

Stan shrieked (in a manly way, of course) and tossed the bones back into the lake, tripping over his own feet and other bones in his haste to get out of the water. He fumbled and landed with a grunt, pushing his hair out of his face. Maybe letting it grow out some hadn’t been a good idea. Stan gulped down air as he shook, only calming himself down by the sight of the gun nearby.  


__

“Alright.” He was on his arms in an instant, raising himself into a push-up like position. “That’s it. No more funny business.”  


__

Stan began reaching for the gun as he supported his weight on one hand. A slapping sound from behind him caught his attention and he turned back around. Stan could see, in the dim light of the moon and stars, some ripples in the water, around where he had thrown his cache of bones. He squinted out at the sight. Was there a fish in the water? Or something else?  


__

Before he could decide if it was worth getting his gun back for, sudden bubbling appeared in the ripples, which had in turn picked up speed and size. Soon, the ripples spanned the entire lake. The water lapped just behind Stan’s feet and he pulled them closer to his body, even more uneasy. His eyes widened in shock. What the hell could make a lake do this? He wondered if this was some kind of magic murder geyser or something- right smack in the middle of the forest, no less! However, his wonder was killed as he saw something beneath the center of the ripples. Stan could see it darting closer to the surface and shoved himself up, trying to get a clearer view. He stood and whirled to see what it was, taking small steps backwards. He may be an idiot, but he wasn’t dumb enough to stay in range.  


__

Stan could almost see it then, for a split second, and it was _definitely_ not a fish. Then, it burst out from the water.  


__

He was paralyzed with fear. Cold, gut-wrenching fear. He backed away only to trip on his gun, sending him onto his back. Pain rocketed through his head and shoulders as he lay in a daze. He looked up blearily when a deafening yell sounded from above the lake, just in time to see the creature in midair, and begin its descent towards him.  


__

“ _Holy_ motherf-“ his cursing was broken up by another screeching roar above, and he rolled out of the way just before _it_ could crush him. Sand and dirt sprayed across his back and sides. Stan wasted no time in waiting for it to get him. He could see the mound in the distance and prayed he could make it to that in time. Surely that...that oddly shaped thing (he couldn’t get a good look at it, with it being night and all. Also, he wasn’t wearing his glasses) couldn’t _possibly_ survive outside of the water for longer than a minute, seeing as how it lives in the lake.  


__

From where said creature had landed he could hear a rapid _thudthudswishdthudthudswish_ follow after him. Stan decided to chance a look back- he wasn’t exactly known for his smarts.  


__

The thing was following him- and at a surprisingly (alarmingly, concerningly, _frighteningly_ ) fast pace. It looked like a malformed mermaid? Merman? A malformed mersomething in any case; it’s unnaturally long arms protruding from what was likely the neck. Its ambiguously gendered torso was like a snake’s, long and scaly. It’s head was also scaly, but oval shaped and with a consistently open mouth, revealing rows and rows of teeth that glinted in the dim light. It also had one greenish eye with a black slit for a pupil, and he shuddered. If the merthing wasn’t creepy on its own, the slight but uncanny eye resemblance to Bill didn’t help any. The hands were- he noticed with a gulp- clawed, and it was using them to drag itself after him, the tail at the end of it leaving a familiar trail behind it.  


__

Well. He had been so, so far off track with his guess earlier. If it wasn’t for the fact that he may very well be staring at his death Stan Pines would’ve kicked himself. A lizard that wouldn’t walk on a poorly made path? Really? _Really?_  


__

“Oh come _on_!” Stan quit his ogling and picked up speed, eyeing the mound. Maybe he wouldn’t actually get to it before the merthing got to him- or he would, but it would still be coming after him. He didn’t think he could summon more stamina and adrenaline after he got there. “Will you get your gilled ass back to the water?”  


__

Stan wasn’t sure if it had gills, actually. He hadn’t been able to see any, but it had to have some if it was in the water. Right? It answered with a sharp and watery growl. He countered with the raising of his middle finger.  


__

The thumping and swishing stopped abruptly behind him. He took this chance and ran with it, pushing himself harder than he thought he ever had before. Even harder than when he had escaped from that prison in Columbia. His thoughts quickly turned into triumphant congratulations towards himself, and he grinned maniacally. _‘Stan Pines, you silver fox, you have done it again,’_ he praised. _‘Thank you, thank you. I have, haven’t I?’_  


__

Thirty feet away was his haven. He could practically feel the lumpy, earthy mound in his hands.  


__

Until, of course, the bastard bit his leg.  


__

The force as it dove into him, biting him, shoved him onto the ground. The air rushed out of him in one heaving _oomph_. His face was sure to be bruised the next day, should he live to see it. He shouted in pain and surprise as several rows of teeth hooked into his calf. He gasped for breath as it began to reverse itself back towards the lake. He really needed to be careful with what he assumed.  


__

Stan wildly sifted his hands through the sand as he tried to find something to hold on to. He could already tell they were starting to get close- _too close, way too close_ \- to the lake. The beast moved _fast_. He could smell the fishy scent mixing with that of his blood. He needed to get out of the thing’s grasp and he needed to _now_. Eyes darting, he slid his hands across the sand again. He could see the rows his fingers were leaving in the sand and how utterly empty they were. Not even a pebble. Surely a bone or a twig was buried in the ground, right? He’d even take one of those god-awful gnomes and use its hat to stick in the sand; anything to help him evade his watery death.  


__

Just as he was beginning to panic, his fingers finally ran over a cold metal object- his gun, he realized. Stan grasped onto it like it was a lifeline; which, he supposed, it was. He felt the ground dip in from the dent where the merthing had landed earlier and knew he had to act; in just a few more seconds he would become the thing’s next meal.  


__

Stan twisted onto his side, rearing up his right leg. The sight of his other leg stuck in the beast’s mouth made him dizzy. He shook off the feeling- and hopefully the image- and kicked his free leg onto what seemed like the creature's forehead. He felt the vibrations of the roar tingle through his wound, feeling the pain intensify. With a grimace he pushed harder against it, trying to get it to look at him. At least his kick had stopped its moving with only the lower part of him in the shallow end of the lake. Using some of the reserves in his energy he made a third and final push, finally drawing the attention of his attacker.  


__

It’s eye, about the same length as and just as wide as his head, snapped up to meet with his own. He could see the thin veins at the bottom of its eyes as it bulged; the place where white sclera should be replaced with a greenish yellow one and a stark contrast to its black slit pupil. Its mouth and teeth were stained with his blood, he could tell easily even in the dark of night. He knew he would need to stop the bleeding as soon as he got out of this.  


__

Stan briefly considered making some kind of sarcastic or witty remark. On one hand, it _would_ be cool as hell to be able to brag about literally laughing in the face of death. It would impress the kiddos _and_ get on Ford’s nerves. A small smirk formed where his grimace was at the thought of his brother’s exasperation. But, then again, he didn’t really have the time. Too much almost dying made it a bit hard to be snarky.  


__

Stan swiveled the gun to the center of the merthing’s eye. The strange and eerie silence blanketed them; both of their labored breathing the only sounds for what he was sure was miles. It ended just as quickly. He kept his leg braced against its forehead and held it there with all the strength he could muster. He could feel his leg shaking from all the exertion. Sweat was sliding down his forehead and the back of his neck.

__

Getting old sucked.  


__

Stan pulled the trigger rapidly. Three bullets managed to shoot out and lodge into the merthing’s eye. Blood burst out from around the bullets and sprayed Stan. A small part of him felt satisfaction; like the blood from it was retribution for the blood it drew from him.  


__

Before he could shoot a fourth shot, though, it tore away from him. The screech it made- an inhuman, almost ear piercing wail- had his ears ringing. The merthing stood above him with three blood-dripping holes in its eye. He had gotten it in the pupil it seemed. He backpedaled away as he kept his gun raised, ready for it to strike. It was staggering about, though, and slashing in random directions, but not near him. He eyed the creature warily, hesitant to let his guard down. He’d made that mistake earlier and he wasn’t about to make it again.  


__

Stan looked back over at the mound. _‘Is it safe to make it?’_ He wondered. _‘Should I kill this first?’_ With a glance back he saw the merthing lurching around in the opposite direction of him. Even though he did have a reputation for being rough, he didn’t like to kill things unless he had to. And, yeah, it had attacked him- also was going to drown him- but now it seemed... pitiful. It couldn’t even tell what direction he was in. He had, he supposed, also disrupted its home by messing with its evidence of murder. Did it really deserve to die for wanting to eat? For defending its home?  


__

...It did if there was even a chance the kids might come out here. No way in _any form of hell_ would he let them get hurt.  


__

Stan pushed himself up, wiping at the sand that stuck to his wet pants. He really, really, _really_ wanted to get changed. “Alright freak of nature,” he said with only a hint of pain in his voice. His bitten leg had slowed its bleeding but it still hurt like nothing else. He couldn’t imagine how painful the trek back to the shack would be. “I think it’s about time you... sleep with the fishes.” He shifted the gun so it was aiming at the creature’s brain- or at least where he hoped its brain was. You never really knew with Gravity Falls.  


__

The merthing swerved in what he was sure was a back-breaking move. Its head cocked to the side and the fins on the side of its head spread out. It raised its claws in his direction and hissed, low and dangerous. Stan shot at it as he started to jog backwards towards the mound, ignoring the twinges of pain in his leg. _‘Does it look pitiful now jackass?’_ He shook off the thought. He could beat himself up for being stupid once he wasn’t in danger of being fish food.  


__

Though he wouldn’t mind his last words being a pun. It would tick Ford off if he knew.  


__

The merthing shrieked in pain as it was pelted with bullets. Only one managed to get its face, though, and that was embedded in its cheek. The others were littered throughout its scaly body and two had missed entirely. But it didn’t stop coming. Stan’s chest was heaving now; he could feel himself tiring. Adrenaline could only do so much, especially after he had already had some earlier. He wondered, for a moment, if a continuing flux of on and off again adrenaline was bad for his health. If this beast didn’t kill him then maybe his heart would give out.  


__

Stan finally turned and burst into a sprint- or at least, as fast a sprint as he could manage. He knew, realistically, that when (if) he got to the mound he was probably dead. He had hoped the merthing would’ve dried out or whatever it was that happened to sea creatures that are on land for too long, but after it had dragged him almost half way into the water it had probably replenished. He had only two more bullets left in his gun and he was so, so exhausted. If he thought he had been tired earlier...  


__

The mound was almost in front of him now. He kept his pace as fast as he could, his thoughts matching the speed. What would he do if he got there? Could he muster enough energy to climb up it, hoping beyond hope that the merthing wouldn’t be able to reach him? And if so, what then? Wait until it gets tired and leaves? That could take a long time, and his leg needed tending to. Who knew what kind of germs lived on the teeth of the merthing, also? Could he get an infection from that overgrown water lizard?  


__

Sharp pain danced across his left side. Stan cried out in pain and doubled over, but still kept running. He spared a glance at his ribs- three claw marks on his skin, not nearly as deep as the wound in his leg though. Blood had welled up in the indents but had yet to spill over. Good news. He couldn’t deal with several life-threatening wounds at once.  


__

Bad news. The merthing had managed to get close enough to hit him again.  


__

As he continued to lean over and put one hand against the wound he took his other and aimed the gun again. At the very least shooting it would slow it down. Probably. He fired his last two bullets near its head, then threw the gun back at it for good measure. He had no time to stop and think if it was a good idea or not. He didn’t wait to see if any of his shots had hit. The screech made by the merthing was confirmation enough for him.  


__

The mound was forty feet away. In a moment of pure desperation, Stan ran as hard as he could. It didn’t matter that he had momentarily stopped the merthing; it would get back up sooner rather than later and come after him. He was old. Too old to keep up running, too old to fight, too old to even find his niece and nephew. He felt a sudden and intense guilt for wanting to make Ford mad earlier. If he has just listened to Ford he wouldn’t be about to die right now. Sending a silent apology to him, Mabel and Dipper, and even Soos and Wendy, he ran right into the mound with his eyes closed. If he was gonna be eaten, he didn’t want to be awake when it happened. And he _really_ didn’t want to see it.  


__

Stan fell through the vines that had obscured an opening in the mound, which he now guessed was actually a cave. He had only a moment of shock to think that he had fazed through the earth before his speed had him tumbling through spiderwebs and over roots and rocks. He tripped, his head colliding with one of said rocks, and fell deep into the pitch black cave, out cold.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently a copy from google docs and a paste into ao3 don’t merge well. I was looking over this chapter since I was about the post the next- which I will- and noticed how bad the format was. It didn’t look anything like my doc so I tried to fix what I could, but still not happy with it 😬 try to enjoy anyways! Second chapter should be up tonight or tomorrow afternoon


	2. Chapter 2

Ford watched the tilapia sizzle on the pan, the once raw breaded side slowly becoming a golden and crunchy delicacy. While he may not have had much practice on this side of the portal in regards to cooking, or much on the other side either, his time with Jheselbraum had taught him a thing or two about the culinary arts. He hadn’t had many opportunities to cook most of his meals, what with him fleeing for his life in a lot of dimensions and others where he stole pre cooked items, so he was excited to try his hand at it now. In his home dimension no one was trying to throw him in jail or blow him to pieces, so he felt safe to take his time. Well, he actually wasn’t sure about that. Who knew what kind of gimmicks _Stanley_ had gotten into under his name; what kinds of enemies he had made and felonies had tarnished his name.

On the topic of Stanley...

Ford craned his neck to peer out the window, looking for his brother and the two children. Stan had left a while ago to look for them but hadn’t returned yet. Which was fine with Ford, since he wasn’t close to being ready with dinner, but still. Being on the wrong side of the portal had weaned him into a nearly constant state of paranoia. Was it normal to take this long to find the kids? Stan hadn’t seemed worried when he left, but was it just a facade? Or had he really been that nonchalant regarding the whereabouts of their niece and nephew? Forty years of physical and emotional distance had made reading his brother hard.

Ford turned back to the fish with a shake of his head. Whatever the case he was sure Stanley could handle it. He was the one who had been watching the kids for the summer- if he wasn’t worried then Ford shouldn’t be either. He carefully flipped over the tilapia whilst admiring his handiwork. It truly smelled and looked delicious. He hoped the kids would like it and wished he had asked them earlier. He had only been back for a few weeks, and most of his time had been spent down in the lab or worrying about Bill. It had also been spent dealing with Dipper who was just as eager to help take down the demon. He had been considering talking with the boy, who apparently had dealt with Bill before. Ford recalled when the two children told him how they fought him in Stanley’s mindscape and shuddered. He gave a silent ‘thanks’ to a God he had never truly believed in for the barrier they put around his home. He would be damned if he let Bill get into any more of his family’s heads.

Ford lifted the fish up to see how the bottom side was faring before letting it fall back down to cook more. Once he was finished with this fish and cooked two others he would start on the pecan pie. Mabel liked sweet things, which he could relate to, and his mother had made a wonderful pecan pie that he enjoyed. He hoped with the Pines family sweet tooth she had inherited that she had also got the pecan pie loving gene as well. This would be the first dinner he would make for them and he wanted to make a good impression. A good (he hoped) and healthy dinner packed full of protein and vitamins for him and Dipper- who he was sure would like the benefits a meal such as this could provide to a growing boy like him- and a less healthy dessert for Mabel.

Ford scooped the tilapia onto a nearby plate with his other finished one and set another raw one onto the pan. He set his spatula down and sighed, wiping part of his sweater across his forehead. Cooking was _a lot_ more work than eating out of tin cans in college. Maybe once Stanley and the children left he could go back to that. No need to slave over a hot stove when canned corn was three dollars at the local store.

Checking that the fish wasn’t ready to be flipped Ford pulled a bowl down from one of his cabinets. He crouched down and dug out salad tongs Stanley had obviously bought a few years ago, judging from the wear-and-tear. He dropped it into the bowl with a _pop_ in his knees as he stood and grimaced.

Getting old sucked.

He wandered over to the fridge and yanked the door open, eyes roaming for the bag of spinach and lettuce mix he had requested Stanley buy earlier that day. While protein was good for children, so were fibers and calcium. While Mabel may not agree with him, he was hoping he could bribe her to eat healthy with the promise of a pie slice afterwards. Perhaps even _two_ if she was being particularly difficult. He knew Dipper wouldn’t give him any trouble and was very grateful for it.

Ford found the bag he was looking for and snagged it along with a tomato that looked like it was still edible. He balanced those in one arm while he picked up the bottle of ranch. Though it wasn’t healthy, he knew the children would be more willing to eat the salad if it had some of the dressing on it.

At least, that’s what usually got Stanley to eat it when they were kids.

Pushing past the wave of nostalgia and sadness at the memory he set the items down on the counter. He turned back to the fish on the stove and quickly turned it over, frowning at the lightly charred side staring him in the eye. Oh well, he could eat the burned one. He set the spatula down again and grabbed the salad bag, opening it and dumping it into the bowl. When he was almost halfway through cutting up the tomato he heard the bell in what was now the gift shop door ring, signaling the return of his brother. Ford glanced over his shoulder to try and check but quickly looked away. The fish suddenly seemed like it needed tending to.

“I was wondering when you were going to come back,” he called out as he set the fish over onto the plate. “Did you manage to get the children back without losing them?” He heard the door close and faint whispers from the gift shop, but no answer to his question. He scoffed quietly.

“Were you talking to us?” A voice- definitely not Stan’s- asked, and he turned away from the food. The children stood in the doorway with loaded boxes in their arms and an uncomfortable look on their faces. Ford blinked at them once, twice, before he registered what they said.

“No, no, no, no, no!” He hurried, trying to get that uncomfortable look off their faces. He had no idea what it was for but he didn’t want it to be there at all. This was supposed to be a nice, discomfort-free dinner where he could finally talk to the kids. Form a real relationship with them that didn’t consist of their mutual hatred for Bill or weird things that happened in Gravity Falls. He knew next to nothing about what kids nowadays liked or talked about but he was sure he could figure it out. Most likely.

“I had thought you two were Stanley, is all. I, uh, didn’t...” Ford could see his explanation wasn’t helping to ease their discomfort and trailed off. He saw the children exchange an indecipherable look before they nodded at him. Well then. “I uhh,” Ford turned back to the stove. He could feel the familiar unease from his youth come back to him at the odd stare he had been given. He grabbed the last fish from the plate and gently laid it on the pan. He waved his free hand in a vague gesture. “I thought it might be good for us all to have a home cooked meal. Together, I mean. At the table.” He had set out plates and utensils for everyone right after Stan had left before he began cooking. “I’m almost done with the food but the fish is done if you would like some. And then I’ll finish the salad. And then the pie.

“Pie?” Mabel asked, and Ford smiled a little. He heard her pad her way over next to him and he turned to her. She was staring up at him with big brown eyes. “What kinda pie is it, Grunkle Ford?” He openly grinned now as he flipped the tilapia. He had made a good call with her liking pie. Now he just had to see if he made the right _kind_ of pie.

“It’s pecan pie, my dear!” Ford wiped his grease coated fingers on his apron. “A family recipe, too. Your great grandmother used to make it when Stanley and I were your age.” The young girl nodded sagely, unblinking.

“Grandpa Sherm and Grandma made pecan pie for us when we would visit them. I really, _really_ liked it.” Ford grinned at her statement, then winced. Were it not for the fact that he likely had to give his life to stop Bill, he would’ve loved to talk to his older brother. How would he explain where he had been this whole time? A sudden thought crossed his mind; had Stanley pretended to be him when and if he talked to their family? Did anyone actually know he had been impersonated for thirty years? He would have to have a talk with Stanley after their dinner.

“So...” Mabel began turning her head this way and that, “where’s the pie?”

“Oh!” Ford took the last piece of fish and put it on its designated plate, turning off the stove at the same time. “Well, I haven’t exactly made it ye-“

Mabel’s gasp was mixed with high-pitched squealing, nearly shattering the cups on the table. Ford startled and as he picked up the plate of fish. “What? What is it?” Was this one of her good squeals or a bad one? He glanced over at Dipper, but the boy didn’t look up from the third journal placed on his lap.

“Can I make the pie Grunkle Ford? Please please please? Plllll _easeeeee_?” The girl was bouncing on the balls of her feet as she looked up at him. A wide and brace filled grin was plastered across her face. “Grandpa Sherman says I’m a really good cook so I promise I won’t mess up! Please! Pretty please!” He squinted through his glasses as he considered her plea. Ford had wanted to make them a nice dinner, but maybe they would like him more if he let Mabel help. Or would they think that he couldn’t handle himself in the kitchen? He heard Dipper clear his throat and focused his attention on his nephew.

“It’ll be easier to just let her make the pie,” the young boy said, not taking his eyes off the journal save for one momentary glance up at him. “Trust me.”

“Alright then,” Ford conceded. He wondered if this was awkward for them, too. “You work on the pie while I finish the salad.” He relaxed slightly at the girl’s shout of joy before he turned away from the pair, letting out a quiet breath. He had no idea he could overthink that as much as he had just then. When had he become so paranoid regarding family?

...Probably since Stanley wrecked his project in high school. Speaking of Stanley...

“So,” Ford cleared his throat as he began cutting up the tomato again, after setting the fish plate on the table. “Is Stanley waiting out on the porch?” His brother hadn’t come in with the children but he had to be nearby. Ford wasn’t looking forward to searching all over the house for his brother, who knew that he had been making dinner, if he didn’t have to.

Neither of the children answered him but he waited another few seconds, tossing the tomato pieces in the bowl to keep busy. When he still didn’t get an answer he turned around. The two were sharing a puzzled look with each other, then with him. “I mean after he retrieved you, did he stay on the porch outside?”

“Retrieved us?” Dipper questioned, closing the journal with a frown. “He didn’t... we thought he was with you. Wasn’t he here with you when we left?” Ford also frowned as he squeezed a small amount of ranch onto the salad. “Yes, he was. He said he was going out to find you two and left a while ago. I thought he came with you when you arrived?” He didn’t mean for the last part to be a question, but his confusion had fused in with his words. Had Stanley _seriously_ forgotten to find the children?

Ford saw Mabel shake her head out of the corner of his eye. “Uh-uh. We didn’t see him outside when we came in.” She continued her chopping of the pecans, albeit at a less happy rate then she had been doing earlier. Ford also resumed tending to the salad. He stirred in the ranch with the salad tongs. Where could his brother have gone? Into the forest? Into town? Maybe the roof?

“Oh.” He set the bowl onto the table next to the fish then leaned on one of the free chairs. He could see it was getting late out, the light once provided by the kitchen window slowly ebbing into darkness over time. The birds he could hear earlier silent now. “Did you see him while you were out... what were you doing again?”

“We got some of my pictures developed,” Mabel answered as she sprinkled her cut up pecans on top of the pie. Ford stepped over and grabbed it, placing it into the preheated oven carefully. “Um... Grunkle Ford? Shouldn’t we be looking for Grunkle Stan?”

He had, in truth, also been wondering the same thing. If anyone, Ford knew how dangerous Gravity Falls was, especially at night. But Stanley had been living here for thirty years, and had once been the star wrestler on their high school wrestling team. His brother could handle himself better than anyone else in town. And... Ford did want to spend some time with the children without Stanley hovering. Stanley would come by later, he was sure, with some excuse as to why he couldn’t be bothered to join them. In fact, he was probably avoiding Ford. His brother seemed to be doing a lot of that since he opened the portal.

Stanley was fine; he was always fine.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Ford gave each of them a tight lipped smile, “he’s lived here a long time. I’m sure he’s just out... for a... walk. Or- or maybe at the diner! He’s around, in any case.”

“Did he know you were making dinner?” Dipper asked as Ford set a slice of tilapia onto his plate. The boy reached for the salad bowl and tongs, not looking away from his great-uncle.

“Yes,” Ford answered, tone sharp with annoyance. He couldn’t believe Stanley for pulling a stunt like this. When he came back...

“So... why would he go to the diner if he knew you were making dinner?” Mabel asked as she poked her own piece of tilapia. While she didn’t seem particularly disgusted with it, Ford noticed she wasn’t excited to eat it either. Dipper on the other hand was already digging in with gusto. Ford made sure to give Mabel a good sized scoop of salad to which she openly fake retched at, stopping once she got a sharp look from her brother.

“Because...” Ford stopped himself. _‘Because he probably wanted to get away from me before we got into another argument,’_ was probably not a good thing to tell the children. Even he knew that would only increase any awkwardness exponentially fast and he didn’t want to subject the children to that. They shouldn’t have to deal with the problem that was his brother and him. Stanley and he would deal with it later, behind closed doors, away from prying eyes and ears. “Um, well, we’ll have to ask Stanley why when he gets back.” He shoved his own slightly burnt tilapia into his mouth to avoid answering anything else. When did children become so inquisitive?

“Are you _sure_ we shouldn’t go after him?” Dipper asked, voice timid. “Not that I don’t think you’re right! Just... Stan’s never really... left like this before. ‘M just kinda worried is all.” The boy shrugged as he popped a forkful of salad and tomato into his mouth. Ford nodded in agreement as he swallowed his own bite of food.

“I understand Dipper.” And he did. He would also (never) admit to worrying for Stanley. Despite their differences and falling outs over the decades, he supposed he still cared. It was natural, after all, to worry about family. Especially family that brought trouble with them wherever they went. Even family that didn’t really consider you family anymore and had said so to your face. “But if I know my brother,” but did he really? After all these years? “then he’s...”

Maybe a partial truth would get the children to soothe their worries.

“He’s probably just... having some trouble accepting that I’m back. He’s just out collecting his thoughts.” Ford shoved the remaining salad around his plate, debating if he should go on. “I’ll tell you what: after we’ve eaten and cleaned up and if Stanley’s not back yet, then I’ll go out and look for him. Alright?”

Mabel nodded vigorously and scooped half the salad into her mouth. She gave a full-body shudder at the healthiness of it. After announcing to get some ‘Mabel Juice,’ the girl was off to search one of the cabinets for it. Dipper, on the other hand, still looked uneasy.

“Can we go with you, Grunkle Ford? To help look for Stan?”

Ford shook his head with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Dipper. It’s late and you and your sister need to get plenty of rest. It’s vital for growing kids. I can handle Stanley on my own, don’t you worry.”

“Yeah...” Dipper’s face contorted into a wince, “but can you... can you handle him _well_?”

Ford blinked rapidly, surprised. It seemed Dipper at least had picked up on the tension between Stanley and himself. Oh dear.

“I’m _back_!” Mabel’s voice cut off any words about to be spoken. She was carrying a whole blender- Ford wasn’t sure if that was a safe thing to do- full of pink mystery juice and plastic figurines. He shuddered at the thought of what bacteria must be on those and therefore swimming in her concoction. Mabel set the blender down hard enough to shake the table, then skipped over to the oven. _Crap,_ he had forgotten about the pie.

“Oh-“ he watched her use the sleeve of her sweater as an oven mitt to open the oven. One hand drummed on his thigh while the other was reaching out to her. “Please be careful! It’s very hot!”

“I know, Grunkle Ford!” She seemed entirely nonchalant of the risk she was taking as she grabbed the pie and set it on the stove. Ford _swore_ he saw a trail of smoke rise from her pale blue sweater. She was an odd child, indeed. He rose from his chair as he studiously ignored Dipper, grabbing a knife to slice the pie. He didn’t want to dampen Mabel’s good mood with the poor relationship he had with his brother, so he simply wouldn’t talk about it. At least, that’s what he told himself.

After dinner and dessert were finished, with Mabel eating _half_ of the pecan pie, Ford ushered the children upstairs. He hand-washed all the dishes, hand-dried them too, and put them all away. He wiped down the sink and table too, for good measure. He didn’t want any crumbs or germs around. _‘Or to deal with Stanley,’_ he thought, who had still never shown up for dinner. His earlier anger and annoyance was still present, but more of it had formed into worry. Perhaps he _could’ve_ handled Stanley’s absence with less nonchalance.... But if Stanley was fine he would be getting a serious reaming for making the children (and only the children, he would add) worry. It wasn’t fair to them for him to worry them like that. Because Ford wasn’t worried, of course.

But, just for the children’s sake, he hurried out the door and into the night, slamming the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I fixed these two to have matching formats after 20 minutes of figuring out how 🎉 I hope you guys like. I think I can do a weekly/ bi weekly update schedule so look out for a new chapter every Monday/ every other Monday. Maybe sooner 👀


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! This is technically just a filler chapter that I wrote which is centric on the twins (mainly Dipper’s) after dinner. You don’t need to read it since it doesn’t have any real plot advancement but if you want to then *shrugs* I will still be updating Monday.

Dipper and Mabel sat in their room; Dipper on the bed watching his sister, who was leaning against the door. She had her ear pressed to it as she tried to hear what was going on downstairs. Great-uncle Ford had sent them to bed before either twin could ask about Stan, which had annoyed his sister. And, though he was hesitant to say anything bad about his uncle, it had annoyed him too. His uncle’s whole behavior regarding Stan’s absence had gotten under his skin.

“Mabel, do y-“

“Dipper, _shhh_!” Mabel gave him a squinty glare. “I’m _trying_ to listen. If Grunkle Ford doesn’t go out and find Grunkle Stan then I will.” She looked back over at the door, straining her ears. “I don’t think he’s left yet.”

“And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?” Dipper threw his arms up, exasperated. He was also pretty worried about their other Grunkle. But he trusted Great-uncle Ford to get the job done. The guy had lived in countless dimensions for _thirty years_ , running from who knows what and kicking butt. He could handle finding and returning an old man. Dipper trusted him to bring back Stan one hundred percent. Eighty percent. Fifty. Maybeee thirty. Ten? Okay, so, not at all.

“Pshh,” Mabel waved her hand flippantly, “I’ll have Waddles smell one of his girdles so he can track Grunkle Stan like the dogs in the movies. Pigs are smarter than dogs, Dipper. That’s a scientific fact. If some old dogs can track a scent then so can Waddles; especially a scent as smelly as Grunkle Stan. And-“ she lifted a finger to silence any rebuttal Dipper might’ve had. “-I’ll bring along my trusty grappling hook. And trusty brother. With all these there’s _no way_ that we can’t find him!”

“Wha…” Dipper could see so many holes in his sister’s plan that it wasn’t funny. Did she really think a grappling hook would be useful to find Stan? Did she plan on shooting him with it? Dipper frowned at the idea. He didn’t think Stan’s old man body would fare very well against the weapon. “Mabel,” He pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “dogs have a much better olfactory sense than pigs. Plus Stan has been everywhere. Waddles would probably get confused trying to figure out where to go. You don’t even know if Waddles _can_ track smells. And how exactly-“

“GRAPPLING HOOK!”

The said grappling hook latched onto the beam over Dipper’s bed. It dug into the old wood snugly as his sister flew from the door to dangle over him. She gave him an expectant look and made a ‘shooing’ motion with her foot. Dipper sighed heavily, then pulled the journal into his lap and scooted over. Wood pieces and dust fell from the beam, along with his sister, and onto his bed. His sister either didn’t notice or didn’t care that she was going to get splinters in her legs. He guessed a mixture of both.

“Sorry Dipper.” Mabel shook her head sadly. “I couldn’t stand to listen to nerd talk. Not now with Grunkle Stan lost.” Dipper understood, in a way. He nodded and leaned back against the wall supporting his bed. He didn’t think he’d be in the mood for one of Mabel’s silly makeup antics. Too much worry for Stan. “Hey Dip-Dop?”

“Yeah?”

“Um… I really am worried about Grunkle Stan. Do you think that... he’s okay? That he’s safe?”

Dipper considered her words. On the one hand, Stan had fist fought a pterodactyl and won. He also fought through a horde of zombies to save them. He was a tough old man who, like Great-uncle Ford had said, had lived here for thirty years. If anyone could survive out wherever he was, then it’d be Stan. And who knew? Maybe Grunkle Stan was clearing his head about the presence of Ford. He was likely just avoiding him, but were both actions mutually exclusive? Dipper wouldn’t put it past Stan to try and find a way out of dinner with his brother

But at the same time, Dipper had a bad feeling about this- and he was guessing Mabel did too. Something about this whole evening felt… off. Like a storm brewing but not seeing any clouds in the sky.

“I really hope so, Mabel,” he sighed. He threw an arm around his sister and gave her a squeeze in an attempt to comfort her. She reciprocated his squeeze and he smiled. As long as he had Mabel, he was sure that they could handle any problem that came their way. And if Great-uncle Ford ended up not looking for Stan… well. Dipper was sure Mabel would follow him to the ends of the earth to bring the old man back. And they’d drag Ford with them, too, and force the two brothers to make up. He didn’t want Mabel or himself to go through all this worry again because their uncles were too stubborn to forgive each other. “I really hope so.”

“I just wished that he and Grunkle Ford could make up. I feel all,” her hands flopped back and forth in an unclear yet understandable way, “weird. Ya know? I don’t like how they’re acting to each other.” The grappling hook swung slowly where it hung from the beam as Mabel let it go, slumping her head onto her knees. “I want them to be as nice to each other as they are to us. Grunkle Ford made us dinner and- and pie! But… he didn’t even care that Grunkle Stan wasn’t there.” Dipper rubbed her back in sympathy. As much as he revered Ford, he would admit that he wasn’t being cool. No matter how mad he was at Mabel he wouldn’t just _not_ care if she was gone. She was his sister! While Great-uncle Ford was a good author, Dipper decided, he wasn’t a very good brother.

The sound of a door slamming shut broke the twins out of their thoughts. The two kids startled, then shared a look with each other. “Sounded like it came from the gift shop,” Mabel whispered. Dipper nodded and got off the bed, his sister right behind him. He stood by the window and stretched as tall as he could, looking down. Mabel was mirroring him as she scanned the left and he the right. There was no one down by the gift shop door that they could see. Had someone been trying to get into the Shack? Dipper pulled back from the window to listen downstairs but he didn’t hear anything. He waited a minute just to be sure. When he still heard nothing he pressed himself back against the glass. Dipper looked over towards the road. The Stanmobile was still there with no damage; it didn’t look like anyone had tried to steal it. He didn’t see anyone else’s car either.

“Maybe Grunkle Stan came back?” Mabel said. Even to her own ears it sounded unlikely. A loud announcement of his arrival would’ve been made, either by the con-man himself or his twin. Just as likely, he and Great-uncle Ford would be arguing about how late he was to come home and their voices would carry all the way up to the attic. At the very _least_ they would’ve heard his trademark stomping through the house. No, it wasn’t Stan who had made that noise. Dipper didn’t answer her though; he kept looking for any sign of the sound. A glimpse of a tan coat caught his eye and he pointed at its retreating form.

“Mabel, look!” His sister followed his finger to the ever shrinking form. She blinked and looked over at Dipper, then did a double-take back out the window.

“Is that Grunkle Ford?!” Incredulity laced her words. She squished her face against the glass and squinted, trying to confirm her question. The figure was already gone, though. She turned back to Dipper with widened eyes. “He’s really going after Grunkle Stan…” a smile lit up her face. “Maybe he is a big ol’ softie after all!”

Dipper hummed in response. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was, like Mabel said, ‘a big ol’ softie.’ Was Great-uncle Ford actually going to find Grunkle Stan just because he was a softie, or was it because he knew the twins would hound him about it if he didn’t? Would he actually try and find Stan or kill enough time by hanging around to make Mabel and Dipper think he tried? Had Great-uncle Ford slammed the door _purposely_? To get their attention and get them to see that he had left? Was it just a show?

Dipper felt guilty immediately after he wondered those questions. While Great-uncle Ford might have been a jerk to Grunkle Stan, today and really every day since he came out of the portal, he wouldn’t _not_ look for him. Great-uncle Ford had seemed tense during dinner; it was probably him worrying over Stan but didn’t want to let on in front of them. That, or he was uncomfortable with Dipper’s call out.

Dipper cringed at the memory. While acknowledging his uncle’s shortcomings to Mabel was easy(ish), actually saying them to Great-uncle Ford’s face was an entirely different matter. He was _The Author_ , his idol. The one person he had wanted to meet more than anything in the world. And to criticize him (even though he tried to do it nicely) so blatantly… it was hard. Dipper felt bad admitting it to himself. He felt guilty about bringing up the fact that the twin brothers might not behave well when Grunkle Stan was _missing_? What a work of art he was…

“Dipper?” Mabel’s hand was waving in his face. Dipper jumped back, tripping and sprawling into the bed. His sister loomed over him; she was so close their noses were almost touching. “You alright bro-bro?”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah, yeah. You just scared me is all.” He pushed her out of his face and sat up. Mabel plopped down beside him as she held her sweater sleeves in her hand, the ends all scrunched up. She was quiet- too quiet even for Mabel. Dipper fiddled with the rim of his hat before deciding to take it off for the night. He hung it on one of the hooks of the grappling hook. Mabel still hadn’t said anything yet so Dipper decided to take initiative. “What’s wrong?”

Mabel shrugged. Her eyes were downcast and saddened, so different from her usual boisterous and happy self. Her sweater wasn’t long enough to comfortably visit Sweater Town or she would’ve. “I guess…” Mabel rose off the bed and made her way to one of the boxes she and Dipper carried earlier. She opened one of the envelopes and pulled out the stack of pictures inside. Dipper couldn’t see what was on them, but he guessed it was pictures of Stan and them. Some surely had Great-uncle Ford in them but he didn’t think she’d want to see those right then. Mabel pulled out her scrapbook from under the bed and flipped it open to her newest section: Grunkle Brother Love Page.

It was empty.

“I guess I’m just wondering,” she trailed her finger across the page, finger bumping little bubble stickers she had put on it, “what if… like, I know I asked if you think Grunkle Stan’s okay. But what if he’s-“ Mabel bit her lip as she considered saying what was on her mind. Saying it might make it feel more real. It always did when she told Dipper a problem she had. When she told someone, then, it made the problem a real, actual problem. Not an idea or fantasy she could call crazy. But she wanted Dipper to be honest. “What if he’s not? What if he’s not safe and- and he’s actually hurt?” She wailed and covered her eyes with her hands. “What if he’s not safe and if he’s not safe then- then something bad happened to him? Or he’s in danger! What if Grunkle Ford can’t find him? Grunkle Ford said Grunkle Stan was going to get us and he hasn’t come back! Is it our fault that he’s not here? Is it… mine? I was the one who wanted to get the pictures. If I hadn’t or if I just… _hurried_ , then maybe he wouldn’t be out there...”

Dipper was silent as his sister ranted. She raised some thought provoking points- but **not** about it being her fault. “Hey.” He padded over to where she sat and pulled her into a hug. He made sure to give her an extra tight squeeze for good measure. “It’s not your fault, alright? Or both of ours. Maybe Great-uncle Ford was right and Grunkle Stan’s just clearing his head. You know?”

“But from what Grunkle Ford said, then,” a sniffle from his sister, “that means Grunkle Stan’s been gone for hours, Dipper. A really long time. The only things Grunkle Stan does for a long time is watch tv or... or give tours.”

“Don’t forget sleeping,” Dipper whispered. Both were silent for a moment. Not even their breathing could be heard. Suddenly they broke out into giggles. Nothing was particularly funny about what he said but they were suddenly overwhelmed with laughter. Maybe it was their nerves or just the comforting feeling of being with each other, he wasn’t sure. But soon he had tears of laughter rolling down his face and he couldn’t stop. His sides and stomach were starting to hurt. Mabel was wheezing as she clutched onto Dipper. And just then, in the comfort of one another’s arms, Dipper felt like it would be okay.

He didn’t know how wrong he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on the story so far? Or constructive criticism?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cant keep to my own schedule. Oops! Hope y’all don’t mind this a few days early

Ford roamed his flashlight through the thick foliage of the trees as he searched for Stanley. He had been in the forest for nearly an hour. He wished his brother had worn something besides the signature ‘Mr. Mystery’ suit; it would be impossible to find Stanley in the dark apparel this late in the evening. Still, Ford pushed on. He moved his light from bushes and trees to the ground to look for tracks. He had done more than his fair share of tracking in the portal, looking for food or evading pursuers. Ford had thought it would be easy- child’s play, even- to find Stanley.  
Of course, he may have been wrong about Stanley going into the woods.

Ford had noticed the faint footprints leading into the trees and had confidently gone after them. But could they have been from a different time? Had his brother gone into the forest days before and those were his tracks? Ford cursed himself for not bothering to check. He could be leading himself on a wild goose chase, seeing as he had lost the tracks ten feet into the woods and had been guessing since. _Was_ he wrong? He couldn’t remember Stanley going anywhere but the forest and Ford’s home so he thought he was right. Perhaps he should’ve asked the kids...

_‘No,’_ he told himself, clenching the flashlight tighter, _‘that wouldn’t have ended well.’_

It would’ve worried the children even more. Ford could tell, at dinner, that the children were antsy. He was too. He knew they were trying to be calm, but they wanted to talk about Stanley. Ford refused to meet Dipper’s eyes and studiously stared at his plate. The dinner had been much worse than he had hoped. _‘And it’s all Stanley’s fault.’_

His worry for his brother had dissipated the longer Ford was out here. While it was summer, the night’s were still somewhat cool. Not to mention he was missing out on much-needed sleep _and_ had missed a good dinner with his niece and nephew. The first chance to really sit down and chat and no one had even talked because of Stanley. Or the lack thereof, he supposed. In fact, the longer Ford thought of his brother’s absence, the more annoyed he got. Stanley _didn’t_ retrieve the children, he _didn’t_ come for dinner, and he didn’t even call to let them know where he was! Now Ford had to trudge through the woods in search of Stanley when his brother was probably at a bar or whatever it was he got up to when he was alone. Ford felt indignated for worrying earlier. Stanley always made him overreact.

But he had promised the kids he would look, so here he was.

Ford swung the light idly, now uncaring to be precise. The pale yellow moved across rocks and twigs and bushel, but no Stanley. No shoe, no suit, not even a hair to be seen. If he didn’t find his brother within- Ford looked at his watch; it read 10:26- half an hour, he would turn back and go home. He hoped the kids would understand. But if what Dipper had said to him earlier was any indication, he didn’t think they would. Then they would be mad at _him_ and not Stanley- who caused this whole scenario in the first place- and they would push him farther away while Stan is worshipped like he’s not a _screw-up_ who ruins-

Ford paused his mental rant when the light caught sight of some tracks. It looked like pointed foot prints of some kind with a square-ish shaped path between. Ford gaped in wonder as he crouched down, in awe of these unfamiliar tracks. He pressed his hand into the dirt next to it, noticing the differences. The pointed (reptilian?) ones were rounded and dirt had begun to fill some parts. Ford’s handprint was perfectly rounded where it needed to be and sharper where it was pointed. So  
the tracks were about a day old. Ford brought the flashlight closer to the space between the reptile tracks and pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. He could see a smaller, slightly deeper line in the center. He’d seen it on some of the fish and sirens he’d encountered; the signature trail of a tail. Specifically, an aquatic one. How _odd_ to find it in the center of the forest!

Keeping his light on the trail Ford stood quickly. He kept his head low to make sure he never lost sight of the path. His free hand itched for a pen and his journal. Something he had never seen before in the forest? _And_ it’s an aquatic life form capable of leaving the water? He could count on one hand the number of things that would be a scientific discovery like this. Ford began walking briskly with renewed energy. From the size of the tracks the creature was _big_. He wondered where it could’ve been hiding for him to have never seen it. And what was it doing here? Hunting? Searching for a new habitat? Who knew how long it could stay out of the water! Or- his face tingled as he began to smile- was it _amphibious_? Could it speak? His mind raced as he tried to envision how beautiful the creature must be from a scientific perspective. Perhaps he could befriend it. Several of the Gravity Falls creatures were fluent speakers- and in modern English, no less- and he hoped this was one of them. Oh, the secrets he could learn.

Ford realized he had started running as fast as his thoughts and halted himself. His legs dragged, his feet digging marks into the trail. His breathing was heavy and he made a mental note to get more daily exercise. But his excitement was nearly a physical sensation. Ford wondered what other new things had popped up in his absence.

As he was taking a breather, Ford noticed another set of footprints inside the tail’s path. Prints that were the same size and shape of his own. _Stanley’s_. He suddenly remembered why he had come out here in the first place. Ford looked around quickly for any signs of his brother, all the while being extremely grateful the kids weren’t there. They’d surely lay into him if they knew he forgot.

Seeing nothing around, Ford made the logical decision to keep following the prints. It would kill two birds with one stone as the saying went; he would find Stanley and figure out what, why, and who left those wonderful tracks. He noticed that Stanley’s trampling of the aquatic tracks was much fresher than the creature's prints. Had these been what distracted Stanley? Or had something else that had coincidentally brought him here? Ford swept the flashlight across the ground once more. There was no sign Stanley had begun coming back; at least, he hadn’t come back this way. Was he taking a different route? Or had he managed to actually find the creature and was with it? It didn’t sound like Stanley to take an interest in that type of thing. Maybe he hadn’t realized what it was? Ford just hoped his brother hadn’t said or done anything to annoy a potential scientific breakthrough.

After a ten minute jog and a couple periodic “Stanley?”’s called out, Ford found himself staring at the ground, empty of tracks. Except for Stanley’s. He whirled around in case he had lost the others somewhere back, but they were right behind him. Ford shined the light in a small circle to see where it had veered off but saw nothing. It seemed to just end abruptly. Was it not only aquatic, but also avian? Ford shivered with anticipation. This would be such a wonderful addition to his journal.

Ford raised the light up off the ground to swing it at eye level. He saw trees, a giant rock-looking mound of some sort, several bushes, a lake, and an all around wonderful ecosystem. Perhaps this is where

several of the animals and creatures of Gravity Falls spent their free time. It would look very aesthetically pleasing in the daytime. Ford was not one to admire physical beauty, but he was sure the children would. Perhaps he might take them here tomorrow.

Ford walked towards the lake as quiet as he could. While the friendlier creatures of Gravity Falls didn’t usually attack anyone, startling them was never a good idea. His breathing was held, too, as he listened carefully; if he could hear it then maybe he could actually find it in this darkness. His flashlight would only last so long, after all. Ford aimed the light towards the lake. The water was dark, impossible to see through. He kept circling it around in hopes of it drawing the attention of the creature. Nothing came up. Ford kept trying and walked closer to the lake in hopes of getting a reaction.

Ford let out a yelp of surprise as he stumbled into a borehole. His left ankle thrummed painfully as he landed on the sandy ground. It wasn’t broken or sprained, for the hole was only a foot deep, but it was still painful. Cons of becoming an old man, he supposed.

He reoriented himself, checking that his flashlight still worked and that he had no other injuries, and began hoisting himself out of the hole. It posed a challenge as the sand was crumbling away before he ever got a real hold on it, but Ford managed. As he was halfway out he noticed Stanley’s footprints. He could tell from how close he was that Stanley had been running - and running _fast_. Ford frowned and pulled himself completely out of the hole. The only thing that made him run that fast was fear of capture or death. Had something scared Stanley? Or had he been chasing something?

Ford took a step forward and his flashlight caught sight of more tracks. One was the aquatic- avian?- trail and the other... He crouched closer to the other tracks in the sand to see better. It looked like... Ford ran his fingers through the sand and except for the extra line on his trail it was uncannily similar. Someone- probably Stanley- had been dragged through here. Ford suddenly began to dread meeting the said creature. It seemed to be the only other life form around and he knew it was big. Did it... _attack_ Stanley? If so, why?

Worry and fear began to bloom through Ford’s chest. He needed to find his brother and he needed to **now**. Ford jogged and kept his eyes on Stanley’s finger trail. He finally saw it end right behind a long wide line in the sand. Ford wished he knew what happened. He noticed now, with the light shining on it, that one area of sand was darker than the rest. He scooped some up, hoping for a clue. Ford saw that most of the sand was a rusty brown; a sharp contrast to the pale yellow around it. But a small part of it... the sight of the small blood stain on his hand made him startle. Had Stanley...? Ford threw the clump of sand away and turned desperately to find anything- _anything_ \- to give him hope his brother hadn’t...

“Stanley!” Ford’s voice was trembling. He saw what he thought were Stanley’s tracks and started to follow them, but the creature’s tail had paved over where they led. He doubled back around to the line. If he followed the blood trail maybe he could find where Stanley went. Ford kept carefully following the trail back to the borehole and shuddered. He’d walked past and _stood_ in so much of his brother’s blood...

“Stanley?” Ford tried to find any blood coming out of the hole but he couldn’t be sure what came from and led where. Frustration bubbled in him, and he felt hyper aware of everything touching him. The bloodied sand had been mostly dry. That meant Stanley had been injured some time ago. He took a deep breath, and then another. “Stanley, are you out here? Please answer!”

Ford started walking around; he couldn’t just stand still. He had to try and find his brother. He ran equations through his head to help keep calm. _‘How likely is it that Stanley’s alive?’ ‘What are the chances you’ll find him?’ ‘Are you too late?’_ He clenched his hands into fists. He would **not** think of that. Stanley had to be alive. He had to be, and Ford wouldn’t stop looking until he found him and brought him back. And also killed whatever was out here, scientific breakthrough or not. “Stanley _please_! Answer me!”

He felt something hard and and oddly shaped underfoot, making him jump nearly a foot in the air. His hands frantically went to his sides in search of his gun but to no avail. He had left it down in his lab. Ford raised his fists and looked down at what he stepped on. He might not have his gun, but he was sure he could beat whatever he stepped on with his fists and a flashlight. Ford had fought more with less.

But it wasn’t an enemy or adversary beneath him. Ford crouched while balancing the light between his shoulder and neck and used both hands to dig out the object. It was somewhat buried beneath the sand and stained, but he recognized it almost immediately. Ford cradled the gun he now held in his hands. It was one of Stanley’s. Ford had found the small arsenal in what was Stanley’s office and had confronted his brother about it. Stanley had shrugged offhandedly, threw out a “Can’t be too safe,” and dropped it. He knew his brother had taken it with him when he left earlier that day. Ford had thought it was extreme; Stanley was just supposed to be bringing back the children! He didn’t think Stanley needed it. He didn’t know... Ford- with shaking hands- pulled out the magazine. There were no bullets left.

Ford squeezed his eyes shut. Stanley loved this gun; he had told Ford so. He wouldn’t leave it out here. Stanley had used every single bullet in it. He wasn’t around and he hadn’t come back to the house and he had been _bleeding_ and Ford didn’t know how hurt he was... Ford tried to think of any possibility that wasn’t... that wasn’t the worst one. But he ran the statistics through his head again and again and _again_. He could come up with only one scenario. As much as he wanted, Ford couldn’t deny the evidence.

A whimper escaped Ford and he dropped the gun. _‘No,’_ he ordered himself, ‘get a hold of yourself. Get a hold of your emotions. Focus and think. Find his body.’ Ford had no idea where to start. He had no clues that led him to believe his brother was okay. He had no tracks to follow. He had nothing but an empty gun and bloody sand and drag marks. Ford squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the building tears. He took a deep breath, shakier than he intended. Ford took one, two, a dozen more... but the urge to cry didn’t go away.

Ford suddenly remembered the things he had thought not two hours earlier. He tried but couldn’t hold back a sob. He had thought such _awful_ things about Stanley. His brother had made mistakes, but he shouldn’t have _died_. Ford’s shoulders shook with silent sobs and knocked his flashlight off of him. The flashlight collided with the gun and it shut off, batteries likely knocked loose, serving only to make Ford shake harder. He had no body to bury. He was hoping beyond logic and reason that his brother was okay, but he would never know. He would never have the confirmation and that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

A humorless and crazed sounding giggle escaped him, momentarily halting his sobs. Ford hadn’t thought he would care when Stanley died. He had pictured it often in his first months through when he went through the portal. He had spent many, many nights at his home and in the portal... wishing Stanley _would_ die. He had sometimes stopped himself before thinking it and switched to extreme harm, but it didn’t matter. Ford knew what he had thought and wanted, and it didn’t matter that he had never spoken it aloud. To think he wouldn’t care if Stanley died? That it wouldn’t affect Ford? That it wouldn’t hurt him?

How wrong he was about that last part.

Ford yanked his glasses off and dug his palms into his eyes. He needed to get a hold of himself, he knew. But it was the first time he’d cried in years and once he started... it felt impossible to stop. It was like eating peanuts, as he had heard Stanley say once. The memory made him laugh; not for any good reason. The memory wasn’t a good or bad one. He had completely forgotten about it until just then. But it was just like his brother to use the most obscure but yet somehow relevant phrases that circled back to apply to Ford. The tears fell harder down his face but he had stopped sobbing. Now it was back to the way he used to cry in his dorm; silent, as to not wake his roommate, but heavy.

Ford would have to tell the children.

It was a scary enough realization to actually distract him from his guilt and grief. How could he face them, knowing he was responsible for this? Knowing he had basically committed fratricide? If he had just bothered to _care_ , to give _half_ a _damn_ , Stanley wouldn’t be dead. Ford knew it... the kids would soon know it... hell, anyone who’d ever met the two brothers would know it. Ford knew he deserved the hate he would get from his niece and nephew- knew he deserved it and a hundred times more- but he didn’t know if he could handle it. To lose his brother and what’s left of his family? He couldn’t possibly survive it.

Imagining the reactions from every one of his family members when they found out one of the first things he did upon his arrival was push Stanley into death’s arms? Ford shook harder at the thought.  
But face their reactions he would. He owed it to Stanley to do so. He wouldn’t skirt or sidestep their hatred. He would face it head-on. And if time proved he had become too weak to live with their judgement and his own guilt and self-hatred.... well.

Ford could always join Stanley in the afterlife.

But Ford was a weaker man in his old age than in his youth, so he didn’t get up to face the music. He curled his arms tighter around himself and brought his knees to his chest. He gave mumbled apologies to a lost brother, and mourned. The only sounds the creatures of Gravity Falls could hear were the broken cries of an even more broken man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be going back to Stanley 😴 finally


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me 3 days to actually be able and start writing this chapter cause nothing felt right to start off. 😶 Also I looked up symptoms of PSTD and a lot of it fit with how I was writing this chapter (by accident) so now that is a tag! If this isn’t accurate for PTSD I’m very sorry!

_Stan was running, his heart pumping blood to his legs that so desperately wanted to get away. His breath was so loud yet somehow not enough to fill his lungs. His chest burned like fire. The pain wasn’t enough to stop him, though. The threat on his life was too close, too close,_ too close. _Stan looked for the mound he knew he had seen, but it was gone. Everything was gone but that lake and the creature behind him. He had nowhere to go, but he had to keep running._

_Stan’s legs felt like he was running through water. His feet seemed to sink and get sucked into the sand as though it was trying to eat him alive. He pushed himself to go faster but he couldn’t. His legs seemed to have a death wish mind of their own._

_Stan needed to know how far away it was. He_ needed _to know but he could feel the hot breath on his back and his neck. He knew if he turned around it would kill him. Stan knew this but he needed to. He had to see it. but he had to get away first. He just needed to get the mound and then he could fulfill his sick desire to see it. But the mound was gone._

 _He was running but he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. Stan looked down. His legs were shredded to literal pieces, and looked like someone had put beef strips on his bones. The blood-_ god, _the blood- was pouring down him and into the sand. The sand started to pull him into it, the blood bubbling and darkening as it soaked in. Stan screamed in fear and tried to step out of the quicksand. The movements shredded his legs more; bloody, large chunks of his thighs and calves plopped onto the sand and were pulled in, exposing his bones._

_Stan’s hand shook horribly as he reached out to touch what remained on his left thigh. His hand slipped on the blood and went sliding on some bone, scraping off the pieces of leg flesh it touched. Stan ripped his very bloody hand away. He felt very light, as though he could float away if he put his mind to it. He felt like he was seeing himself from two different perspectives. In one, Stan was himself, seeing through his own eyes and in his own body. In the other, he was behind himself, watching a bloody and mangled old man sink into the ground._

_When Stan was up to his neck in his blood and sand, he heard the creature roar. It was deafening from how close it was. He turned, so slowly_ he _wasn’t even sure he was turning, and faced it._

_It was just as big as he remembered it, if not more so. The merthing was only a few inches away from him, slit pupil and veins bulging. Stan felt like he was a spectator again but with his own vision. His eyes seemed to want to cross, but he couldn’t. He stared back at the merthing, awaiting his death._

_The merthing leaned in closer, its teeth close enough to count. Stan’s feeling of weightlessness seemed to increase tenfold; if he got any lighter he would float like a feather._

_“ **Stanley** ,” it’s voice was reverbating and unearthly, “you **need** to get up.” Stan could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears. Was he still in his body? What was corporealism? Had he died and was in the afterlife? Stan worried about where he would end up- he hadn’t exactly been a great person in life. “ **Stanley**.”_

_Suddenly Stan was looking at his body, buried in sand and blood and flesh. He tried to look around and recoiled when he realized he only had one eye, his field of vision much larger than it had been in his own body. He looked back down at himself (his old self?), cataract-ridden eyes lifeless. His new stomach growled at the sight, making Stan feel equally hungry and disgusted. He couldn’t stop himself as he bit into his own head, ripping off the top part of his skull. Inside, his brain was gone. In its place was the large eye of the merthing. “ **Wake up**.”_  
——

Stan sat up with a shout, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. His breathing was heavy and loud, broken only by his desperate gulps for air. Stan pressed his palm onto his chest to reassure himself that he was alive and not buried beneath the sand. He felt his heart beat wildly against his chest. It was, in a way, reassuring, and Stan’s breaths slowly started to calm down at the feeling.

Stan’s breathing returned to normal, but he became acutely aware of three worse feelings: the pounding headache in his head, a minor pain in his side, and the burning, agonizing pain in his leg. “Son of a _bitch_!” Stan groaned and placed his left hand near his head wound, hoping to ebb away the pain. His breath was shaky as he pulled his injured leg in and grasped at the pant leg.

Stan pulled the pant leg up slowly, gagging when he heard and felt parts of it stick to his wound. The wound burned when his pants were dragged across it, and Stan was almost certain his leg was on fire. There was very little light but he could definitely tell his leg was swollen. Compared to his other calf, the bitten one seemed to be twice its size. His hands shook as he prodded one of the inflamed teeth marks. The wound felt too firm and he kept touching it, powering through the pain. He’d had plenty of injuries in his life to know that the bite was infected.

The wound finally burst; pus and blood came shooting out of the bite mark. Stan felt vomit in the back of his mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut. The sight of that paired with the pain in his head and leg and side? He was sure he would either throw up or pass out, and maybe even in that order if he was lucky.

“Stupid goddman…” Stan fumbled for derogatory words to try and describe the pain that assailed him. His head hurt too much to really think though. “...goddamn _bitch_! Weak, no-good old leg. _Stupid_.” Clearly not some of his best work, he would grant, but he would cut himself some slack. He was a poor, injured elder after all.

His short rant _did_ help him feel somewhat better. In fact, he felt just good enough to get up (should his leg permit it) and try and figure out what to do. Stan pushed himself into a crouched position with his left leg supporting all his weight. Next, with a deep breath, he gingerly set his right leg down. It did hurt like hell, and it shook like a leaf, but he could stand on it for a reasonable amount of time. Stan took a tentative step on his injured leg to be sure and was satisfied with how little it further hurt him.

When he was standing fully upright he surveyed the dark enclosure he was in. He couldn’t see very far in front of him, but he could see a few inches somewhat dimly. Stan stomped his left leg against the ground, noting it was hard and firm. Likely stone, then. Maybe really dense dirt. Stan held his arms up in front of him and lurched forward. After what had to be twenty long steps forward his hand brushed the wall. Wherever he was had to be pretty big, assuming it was just as long in the opposite direction as it had been in this one.

Stan leaned against the stone wall to take a breather. His side was uncomfortably sung against his torn suit jacket and he didn’t want to risk falling and hurting his head. His leg had also begun to throb and he knew he would have to clean the infection out of the other bites. Stan wasn’t looking forward to that; he remembered looking at all the teeth in the merthing’s mouth and it wasn’t a small number.

Stan shot off the wall fast enough to send his leg’s shaking into overdrive. It was the first actual, serious thinking he had given the merthing since he had been with it. He had completely forgotten what could’ve been his death. How the _hell_ could he forget that? What was happening to him?

Stan raised his fists up to protect his midsection, sliding his weak leg back. Did the merthing come in after him? Was it watching him right now? His eyes cast across the dark corridor in search of the one-eyed beast. While it was dark, and Stan was beginning to suspect he had a concussion amongst other injuries, he knew he would see the merthing if it was here. He was fairly sure he knew anyway. Almost certain, in fact. Or, at least, he hoped he was.

A loud gurgling sound emanated from close by. Stan whipped his head around to look for the merthing, ignoring how the action made his vision swim. Déjà vu made Stan’s dizziness worse as he remembered the minutes before he had been attacked, swiveling his head around in the same manner. His breathing picked up, chest heaving as he desperately searched for his assailant. He may be injured, but he was ready this time. He wouldn’t be caught unaware again.

The gurgling sound came again. Stan made a frustrated and desperate sound. He couldn’t play this cat and mouse game; he just _couldn’t_. But what would happen if he let his guard down? Would the merthing wait until he felt safe and then come after him again? The thought was nearly enough to send the weathered man into tears. Stan couldn't wait to be hunted down and killed. Years of going on the lam to hide from prior bosses and dangerous people he wronged had been so hard on him, and that was in his prime. He couldn’t do it now in his old age. 

Stan slid down the wall against his back. He felt as though his leg would give out any minute now. Plus, he was getting too tired to keep up his fighting stance. Stan closed his eyes to wait for the inevitable, wishing the merthing would have just killed him back at the beach.

Stan felt more than heard the gurgling again, and snapped his head down to look at his stomach in a mix of shock and relief. He laughed, the sound loud and almost watery through the tears streaming down his face. He had been hearing his own stomach grumble. His _stomach_ had sent him into a near panic. Stan’s laughter boomed, circling back to mock him. What was wrong with him? What the literal hell was wrong with him? His booming laughter began to turn into booming sobs.

Stan wrapped his arms around his midsection in a vain attempt to comfort himself. Mabel would know how to help comfort him, he knew. The thought of his niece made him cry harder. He was hurt, he was hungry, he had no idea if he was safe, and he didn’t even know if he would make it home. He missed his family. He missed Mabel. He missed Dipper. He missed Wendy and Soos. Hell, he even missed Ford. Stan cursed himself for his avoidant behavior towards his brother; if he hadn’t been such a prideful bastard towards Ford he wouldn't be in this mess. Stan would be at home enjoying a home-cooked meal, spending meaningful time with his family. He might have even made up with Ford! But no. Stan had to be a _screw-up_ who ruined everything he did.

Stan pushed himself up in a haste, abandoning his pity-party. No. Not this time. He wouldn’t ruin the only meaningful thing in his life because he gave up. He’d get back to them; he’d get back to his family. And if he had to fight one merthing or one thousand, he’d do it. Ford might not care if he lived or died but Stan knew those kids had to be worried about him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone, but he had to have been missing for quite some time now. The kids were bound to go looking for him eventually. Stan could only hope Ford was smart enough to keep them at bay until he made it back.

Stan wiped the drying tears from his eyes and face, exhaling sharply. First things first: he needed to know where he was. He ran his hands across the wall behind him yet again. This time, _truly_ trying to remember. His head was throbbing in sync with his heart beat. Stan placed both hands against his head, clenching to make the pain disappear. He remembered… running. Running from the merthing. Stan squeezed his eyes shut as a sharp burst of pain had him gasping. He was running and.. and something happened. He had been scratched. Stan’s elbow brushed against his side, reminding him of the injury there. But what happened after he got that? He had… had… The pain came once again but he pushed past it. He… shot at the merthing? Stan frowned. It sounded right, but he didn't have the gun on him. Would he really have lost his gun? Maybe in all the, you know, almost dying he had dropped it. He still had that nagging feeling in the front of his mind, but he didn’t care. It didn’t really matter how he had lost it, just that he had. Then he ran into a mound.

Stan let go of the vice grip on his head. He had gone through a mound- or, he supposed a cave in disguise. He had gone _through_ it. Granted, that had probably been what gave him his concussion, but he went through it. And if he could go through it, that meant he could go out of it. Stan just needed to find the way he came in and he could finally, finally go home. He was gonna give everyone a soul-crushing hug when he got back; even Ford.

Excitement and a renewed will to live spurred Stan’s brisk pace as he began looking for the exit. He kept one hand against the wall and he jogged along, feeling for any openings he could get out of. His leg and side sent slight burning feelings through him but were dulled by his utter hope. Stan could take care of his wounds when he got home. Not in some dirty, dingy cave he almost died getting in to.

After a short while of roaming around, Stan’s hand finally felt nothing where the wall had been. He let out a cry of joy and shoved his weight forward, hoping to yet again burst through whatever it was he had gone through earlier. He could practically _feel_ the kiddos’ arms around him.

His left half of his body collided with solid rock, sending his scratched up side up in flames. Stan hissed in pain, clutching the injury, and glared and the dimly lit rocks. After taking a moment to breathe, he straightened up. While the collision had confused and momentarily stunned him, it hadn’t diminished his hope yet. He placed one hand against the boulder, running it over until he felt where it merged and collided with another boulder. He gave each one as hard a shove as he could manage, but to no avail. Stan heaved at other rocks he could find wedged between the two main ones, and besides a few pebbles falling inwards, nothing moved.

Stan’s hope was draining. He couldn’t even get these rocks to budge; there was no way he was going to move them. He wasn’t even sure he could move them in his prime levels of strength. They were _heavywhere_? Stan frowned and hummed to himself, deep in thought. He needed to get back home, and that need fueled the half-assed plan he had somewhat formed in his mind. Deciding to throw luck to the wind, the old man ran his hands against the wall again, going past the exit in search of yet another hole he hoped was hidden in the inky blackness around him.

Stan kept a brisk pace, trying to outpace his thoughts. _‘What if there is no hole? What if no one comes to help you? How bad do you think suffocation hurts? Why couldn't you just drop your issues with Ford for one night?’_ Stan began to walk faster. Of course someone would come for him. Ford wouldn’t let the kids come after him (at least, if Ford knew what was good for him. Stan did want to get past their issues, but he’d definitely break his brother’s jaw for putting the kids at risk), but he would eventually grow tired of their pestering and come after him himself. The kids could be awfully persistent when they wanted to. _Especially_ Mabel.

While ruminating, Stan felt nothing underfoot. He caught himself on the wall just in time to spare himself another concussion, breath held. He half expected the rock in his hand to magically vanish, sending him down however far it was. And after the day(s?) he’s had, Stan couldn't blame himself. It had honestly been a shit week.

Stan still held steadfast to the wall, though. With a relieved chuckle he released it, stepping one foot down to meet the next level of stone. Seeing that it wouldn’t crumble away he set a comfortable pace going downward. He still kept his hand braced on the wall beside him, though. Couldn’t be _too_ careful in a mysterious and eerie cave, after all.

He walked downwards for quite some time, with the occasional break to catch his breath. Stand wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was starting to feel discouraged. It had been at least an hour since he began climbing down this cavern, and while it had been at a slow pace, he would've thought he’d see _something_ by now. His hunger was worse now, almost painful. He was beginning to get thirsty, too. He didn’t think there'd be any Pitt Colas down in a hidden cave. A man could hope, though. It was basically all he had left.

Finally, after twenty minutes of pained walking, he reached a flat clearing similar to the one he had been in earlier. It may not be much in the way of easing hopelessness, but it might be the way out. Maybe it had a back exit that he would have to spend a really long time climbing out of. The thought made him frown heavily. Maybe he should take another break before he starts looking for a way out. It was logical, of course. Poor elders shouldn’t have to work too hard.

Stan groaned, taking long and full breaths, and sat on the ground. _‘Maybe I should’ve waited for help back there,’_ he mused, rueful of having done so much work. At least then, if help came, they would see him and help him quicker. Or, if help didn’t come, he would've died not walking a billion miles down a nasty cave. Either was fine with him at this point.

A squeaking and shuffling sound came from nearby. Stan tensed up and readied his fists. If it was his own body scaring him again, some part of him was gonna get amputated. He heard the sound again, closer, but it wasn't coming from him.

“Stay back, bitch!” Stan called out, hoping that whatever was out there was even more chicken-shit than him. He’d definitely put up a fight if confronted with one, but he really didn’t want to. His energy reserves needed to be full for when he climbed out of this hellhole. “I know how to fight!”

The blackness wasn’t entirely black around him, and he could just barely see the silhouette of something coming his way. It was almost the size of him, and he was fairy sure it was walking on all fours- or however many legs it had. It was going at a moderate pace, not at all like the unearthly speed the merthing had followed him at, but the familiar trapped feeling entered Stan again. He cursed himself for managing to find everything relating back to the merthing and held his ground. He could take whatever this new guy was with his arms tied.

As it approached Stan could make out more details. The most concerning one, however, was the fact that the creature was a man-sized _mole_. His eyes were glued to the freakishly large hands it had, watching them pad ever closer to him. Moles and other rodents grossed him out, and Stan was making a noteworthy effort to not make his disgust apparent. The mole stopped right in front of him, its nose sniffing inches in front of him. It tilted to the side, one of its weird black eyes staring him down.

Stan shuffled farther back until he hit the wall. The mole followed him the whole way back, occasionally sniffing him again or rubbing its huge (did he mention freakish?) hands together. It came closer, closer, and it even came so close as to bump noses with him. “ _Ugh_ ,” Stan shuddered, “god.”

The mole shuffled back at his exclamation and Stan was grateful. Giant merthings and giant moles? Perfect. Though he was not surprised to find such things in Gravity Falls, it was definitely not what he wanted to deal with. Especially now. “You mind screwing off?” His voice was gruff as he made a ‘ _shooing_ ’ motion, glaring at the large animal.

It blinked at him, eyes beady yet suddenly almost humanlike, and opened its mouth.

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now going to be getting to parts that will actually make the title of this story make sense! Also I had to look up moles to refresh my memory of them and they are 🤢 especially the hands so I had Stanley be my anti-mole hand speaker for me. I hope you enjoyed! Criticism/thought always welcome!


End file.
